


'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.

by je_t_oublie



Series: Tis Not Too Late [1]
Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: A Stitch in Time compliant, Dubious medical information, Kelas and Julian are destined to friendship after the amount of times Garak compares them, M/M, Post-Canon Cardassia, warnings of post war health problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-30
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-07-04 12:41:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15841515
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/je_t_oublie/pseuds/je_t_oublie
Summary: The new life of Doctor Julian Bashir. It's dusty, he's tired, and Garak didn't intend his letter as an invitation, really doctor. I hope you enjoy sleeping with the door open.





	1. To sail beyond the sunset.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Come, my friends,  
> 'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.  
> Push off, and sitting well in order smite  
> The sounding furrows: four my purpose holds  
> To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths  
> Of all the western stars, until I die."  
> Alfred Lord Tennyson, Ulysses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like once you've tripped and fallen into the garashir life, it's obligatory to write a post canon Cardassia story. I'm aiming to stay a chapter ahead (and have already failed with only half of chapter two written.)

It’s the dust. 

 

The moment Julian steps out of the runabout, he fumbles for the respirator he had tucked close at hand in a side pocket of his duffel bag but still manages to fill his lungs with a combination of dust from some kind of stone, mud, an atmosphere skewed from oxygen/nitrogen percentages that he had become used to on the station, and trace elements his tongue couldn’t identify. He turns, but the doors are already closing, his and Kira's goodbyes, explanations and acceptances already filed away in a place that seems as distant as from Deep Space Nine to Earth. At least he hadn’t been as crass as to say ‘frontier medicine’ in front of her this time. It’s not only that has he learnt from his years on the station, different species of aliens moving through quickly enough that that he never found time to be bored, and some who returned frequently enough for him to become well versed in their biology. But Julian feels a strange affinity with Cardassia Prime, familiar with its streets and parks, the crumbling remains of regal statues and regal buildings without ever having seen them. Educated in it’s childhood and it’s culture without ever having been immersed in it. He has a lot of thanks to give for Garak's lessons, both those spoken and unspoken, taught from across a table and from across space. Not that he has an obligation to follow them, and he huffs a safe breath through the respirator as he looks around, a combination of the dust and dim sunlight conspiring to make a murkiness he would have trouble seeing through had his eyesight not been adjusted for his parents benefit. 

It still requires him to squint, his eyelashes not enough protection for the sheer density of the dust, but he manages to make his way to the Cardassian in front of a transport without stumbling and starting off on the wrong foot. After gently placing his bags on the ground, he holds up his hands to demonstrate at least the semblance of being unarmed, and carefully calls back his memory of Garak, explaining to him the concept of próso̱po, the proposal of alliance. “I am Julian Bashir, of Amsha and Richard Bashir. I am a doctor. I am of Earth, Deep Space Nine, and now of Cardassia, I suppose.” 

The Cardassian held up one of his own hands, voice roughened by dust in spite of the cloth stretched across his nose and mouth. “I am Aiso Pyrrha, of the Torr Sector. Where do you need transport to?” 

Julian smiled past the respirator mask, lowering his hands, relieved his first interaction had gone so smoothly. “Are you aware of the main hospital complex, or the dwelling of Kelas Parmak?”

Pyrrha turns towards his transport, calling over his shoulder. “Hospital I can do.” 

Julian hurries after him, eyes on the uneven ground, careful of the cargo tucked away into his duffel bag, medkit and large backpack. He hadn’t brought anything that was fragile, but on a planet relatively isolated from most traffic barring Federation and Cardassian Union aid ships he is loathe to be anything but gentle and loving to what equipment he had been capable of carrying. Personal items had not been a consideration in his packing, and as Deep Space Nine was quiet and haunted by more ghosts than people, Kira had not protested the space taken up by a wardrobe of clothing and a handful of paper books. Leeta was happy to accept back Kukulaka, with Rom pledging his engineering skills in case a needle and thread was required, even as the implications hit Leeta and her eyes filled with tears above a tremulous smile. He had relegated a single pocket in his duffel to isolinear rods and a lone padd loaded with as much literature from across the quadrant as he could find, and other than that, had only the clothing which he had used to wrap each piece of medical diagnostic and treatment technology for both safety, and the necessity of filling every gap in his limited luggage. 

Tucking each bag away in the back seating of the transport takes only a short time, but he is uncomfortably hot by the end, layers which served him well in the air conditioned runner now hindering him, and with a layer of grit over them that is so engrained as if to have dyed the cloth. He pulled a Federation ration pack from his duffel bag to offer Pyrrha as thanks, and tightly rolls the shirt he’s removed to wedge into the small gap created. There is nothing to see out the window but the dust that had settled on them while stationary and that the passing wind does nothing to disperse, and his companion does not seem to want to waste words. Pyrrha can somehow see to navigate, and Julian will have to query Cardassian eyesight from someone willing to be more honest than the other Cardassians he had known. Certainly Garak had preferred darker climes than the Bajoran settings on Deep Space Nine, but as to what level of gloom he was able to see in, Julian had never been able to truly work out those limitations. 

The transport pulled to a gradual stop, and he hands over the ration pack and his thanks. Opening the door and pulling back on the burden of his luggage, medkit looped across his chest, arms through each strap of the backpack, the duffel in one hand, and respirator still firmly secured over his mouth and nose, he finally raises his eyes to the buildings in front of him. They are low, uniform in shape and with a lack of architectural pretension. They’re dust coloured, but then again, so is everything else. He’s guessing at Akleen, repurposed military barracks likely to be the closest thing available to manageable wards when the hospital’s structural integrity had taken such a hit after the Dominion bombs. The entry administration office seems to be the waiting room cum lobby, or at least that’s what he is guessing from the Kardasi daubed onto the wall by the door, and the Federation standard cross bolted on beside it. 

The room is busy, patients being triaged on low benches around the walls, some alone and others with family members or friends, and he quickly presses himself against a wall as a Cardassian male is herded by, his arm below the elbow ragged grey skin and crumpled in places where bone definitely should have been. It’s quieter than he expected – only the very badly injured seem to moaning as they are assessed and sent off to numbered barracks, and any coughing is stifled as quickly as the patients seem capable of. Hesitant to interrupt any of the triagers, but unwilling to stand by while people suffer, he pulls out a copy of his identification papers from Deep Space Nine that label him as a proficient doctor of eight years and hands them to the Cardassian woman behind the administration desk. They’re not official orders, he knows, but she types the codes into a computer behind her seat and that seems to be verification enough under the pressure that has only grown over the past year.  
“Ippus!” she calls through the ever present fabric mask. A young woman stands, her black hair shorn close to her skull and dull with dust. “A fed doctor. You,” she turned to Julian, “your bags can go behind my desk and I will watch them. Eight hour shift, shadow Ippus and she will make sure you know enough about our people to not make anything worse.” Ippus and Julian nodded in unison and he quickly divests himself of everything but his medkit, tucking his bags into the hollow under the admin desk. Even if anything was lost, the equipment was meant for the hospital, clothing was replaceable but he wouldn’t deny the possibility of mourning his ration packs and padd.

He pulls out his tricorder and kneels beside Ippus, who is tending to an old and forbidding Cardassian woman whose breathing is rasping damply, her face under her loosened mask was suffused a darker grey than he is used to and the edges of her chufa are verging on black. Scanning her, he reports to Ippus who has her ear to the woman’s chest and an intent expression. “It seems like the dust has gotten into her lungs and caused an infection. Is there an antibiotic specific to her type of case? And what does her chufa indicate?” Ippus is pursing her lips, and already standing to lever the woman up between them. To the woman at the admin desk she calls “Free bed?” receiving only a grey hand held up from behind the computer with four fingers raised. She nods to Julian, who wraps an arm around their patient and keeps his support steady as they lead her dragging feet towards a barrack with a Kardasi figure painted alongside a Standard 4. It’s hot outside, and the dust still swirls around their feet, following them in through the door and to the bed where someone assigned to the barrack, clear by the figure daubed onto their shirt in messy paint, helps to lift the woman onto the neatly made bed, propped up on the headboard to aid her breathing. Ippus gestures Julian away, where he was scanning to ensure the movement hadn’t aggravated her condition.

“Federation, she has a common ailment. We can give her half antibiotic for the full course, but there are so many we cannot replicate enough for the full treatment. The creeping black is her lungs not absorbing enough oxygen. Even with the antibiotics, it’s advanced enough to be low chance. We will try, but-“ Ippus shrugs. “Welcome to Cardassia.” She walked away from him to speak quickly and efficiently to the nurse assigned to ward four, tapping away at a padd marked for the ward, and giving Julian a chance to examine her outside of the busied triage. Her hair, unusual from the common Cardassian, was cropped, emphasizing her strong features and alien ridges. She was short, but strong and Julian knew better by now than to guess at alien’s ages, or even assuming that they had any kind of similarity in development and maximum life length. Like everyone and everything he had seen since his whirlwind arrival, she carried her layer of dust, dulling her scales and giving her skin a strangely human colour in patches. And then he realised her eyes were on him too. “Time to stop dreaming and back to diagnosing. Four will administer her the medication, and a doctor will be contacted in case of emergency. We have too much else to do.” 

Julien was led briskly back out into the murky gloom of dust concealed daylight, disconcerting after the relatively well lit ward, but he was glad they had cleared the pathways between buildings because not only did it give him a respite from having to stare at the ground for trippable objects, but if they had to move stretchers and patients between wards and wherever it was they operated here, it could be deadly if someone fell. He would have to take the time after his shift to learn the quickest routes and memorise building placements. Then, if he hadn’t found who he was looking for (because really Julian, this was a whole planet. Garak hadn’t said anything about whether Parmak had stayed in the main city, and had probably expected Julian to do a bit more bloody research before packing his bags and telling Kira she was down a CMO, but here, a list of suitable and less annoying replacements.) What was it he was trying to remember? Ah yes, a place to sleep. 

He didn’t have time to talk to Ippus for the rest of their shift beyond sharing diagnoses, treatment plans, and querying symptoms the Cardassian doctor recognised as immediate indications of things that Julian had yet to learn. Damn and blast whoever had decided to wipe the medical banks of Terok Nor before they left. He tucks away each piece of information greedily, and doesn’t protest his name of “Federation” because even if he was as welcome as here as he might be needed, it would still be an implied slight that he could really not begrudge her. It may have been a year later, but cases probably hadn’t slowed from the initial emergency after the hospital had been formally set up, only changed from immediate crises to illnesses that were caused by the devastation and rebuilding. Dust related breathing problems seemed most common, immunological systems weakened by subsidence level nutrition. Damages from fallen rubble and accidents while building, water supplies that had become contaminated, a never ending list that makes him wish he had come sooner, and with Federation aid behind him, but until he'd actually read Garak's letter, what were sterile statistics so overwhelming large they seemed only fitting for history books became individual people that still needed help. He had mourned for them at the time, of course, but it had been tied amongst everything that he was still mourning and the work he still had to do on the station in the immediacy after a war. Julian is exhausted by the time they finish, physically and mentally. It had only been a day since he finalized his decision to come, and now, sitting against a corner of the hospital entry building with his safely retrieved bags around him and his head tilted bonelessly back against the warm wall, he sits and just breathes for what feels like the first time since finishing the letter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've referred to prósopo in my earlier story, and again must emphasize despite it being based on the Maori mihi, it is not an introduction but more of a manipulative alliance proposal.  
> Names are mostly from my Greek dictionary - so many Cardassians from the show have two syllable names, so I'm taking that as a norm for name building (and for a very military based society, I feel like Greek names are appropriate.)


	2. "I am a part of all that I have met;"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I am a part of all that I have met;  
> Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'  
> Gleams that untravell'd world whose margin fades  
> For ever and forever when I move."  
> Alfred Lord Tennyson, Ulysses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to the people who commented and kudos'd! I figured after writing another 2000 words last night (I'm trying to keep each chapter to three and half pages on the Word app,) that I'm ahead enough to post again.

It is not a shadow that rouses him from his stupor.

They were thin on the ground outside of the artificial lighting in the wards and Julian wondered whether there was a Cardassian answer to Peter Pan, whether it had been a disconcerting change to suddenly not have a shadow, thoughts flicking past with enough speed and so little reaction that he wondered idly if this was Julian Bashir’s brain going into shock and whether he should be having that particular breakdown in public. Really, for being on an alien planet without a companion and with only his previous commander knowing his whereabouts, he’s already being remarkably blasé about his own safety, but Julian is just so tired. He has the straps of his bags attached to his belt by a carabineer, so they aren’t what has changed about his environment. Loathe to, but without any alternative but to grope and possibly anger a wild animal (and what exactly did live on Cardassia beyond Cardassians, regnars and honge?), Julian opened his eyes and turned his head to the side where, at a polite distance, there is a Cardassian sitting, leaning against the building just as he is, but with curious kindly eyes on him. He had the same painted Kardasi on his tunic as the ward nurses, but longer words printed neatly across his chest rather than an obvious daubed identification in an emergency. He’s the first Cardassian to look kindly at him since his arrival here, and Julian feels a rush of gratefulness he knows that reaches his face, He smiles and lifts a weary hand in the direction of the man, and speaks his próso̱po loud enough to cover the gap between them - Julian Bashir, Richard, Amsha. Doctor. Earth. There’s no need to make it as long as he had his first one, and his throat is already slightly sore from speaking today. Thankfully it’s taken as an invitation, and the man moves closer, with what appears to be a smile under his mask, pushing up at his ridges to crinkle the corner of his eyes and a long plait sinuous around his shoulder.

“Old fashioned in these times, but hello and you are welcomed as another doctor.” He holds up weathered hands in the symbolic gesture of being unarmed, before lowering them back to his lap and the small carry bag he has there. His voice is warm as he continues. “I am Kelas Parmak of Milos and Katara Parmak. I too am a doctor, of Paldar sector.” 

“Parmak?” Julian leant back his head with a thump against the wall, laughter bubbling up in his chest, amusement, relief, the absurdity of the whole situation and nearly choking him as effectively as the dust. “I should have known, should have recognised a Cardassian willing to smile at a human he doesn’t even know.” He turned his head back to smile, to actually grin with a width that threatens the sit of his respirator at the very perplexed and worried looking doctor. “Garak has told me about you.” 

“Ah, l see my friend really does know everybody. May I query how, exactly? If you know him, then you should be aware there are some of his old associates I would prefer to not know.” He had tensed, the friendly lines at the corners of his eyes gone and hands clenched in the fabric of his carry bag and Julian immediately held up pacifying hands. 

“No, no. I'm not part of the Order.” He lowers his voice on the last few words, mindful of the dislike of it in this new Cardassia and what he could parse out of Garak's stories and disdain of his spy holoprograms. “I was the Chief Medical Officer of Deep Space Nine while Garak was there. He wrote me a, uh, letter. You know how verbose Garak can be though, it’s pretty much a whole book.” Julian held his hands an inch or so apart. “He's why I'm here.” 

“You’re him? Oh it is a pleasure to meet you! The amount of times he’s mentioned you, if never by name. My dear doctor, I believe, and the personification of Federation sympathies.” Parmak was more animated now, more intently studying him, and smiling again. “Where are you staying? I fear we have a slight lack in guest accommodations in the City right now.” He spread his hands out in apology. 

“Yes, well.” Julian shrugged, muscles sliding against the wall behind him and shrieking their protest. “If the sky hadn’t been covered, I would have said sleeping under the stars.” He huffed a laugh. “Beyond deciding to come here and what I needed to pack, I was perfectly happy to rough it before even looking for you or Garak. Camping is a time-honoured tradition that my ancestors did so in much cooler conditions than Cardassia.” 

“My dear doctor – my apologies, I am so used to Garak’s description of you. Julian, if I may? I will happily offer my home to you tonight in return for stories of Garak. I would return you to him now, but you are one of his most jealously guarded memories and I fear I may never see you again once you’re in his clutches.” 

Exhaustion had dragged Julian’s head back against the wall but at Parmak's offer he looked back over, squinting slightly for any tell on his face that Julian would not actually be welcome, but there was only friendliness and open curiosity and Julian had only just suppressed his disbelief at finding Parmak at all, this is edging dangerously close to breaking the thin wall between him being nice, polite, /ordinary human/ Bashir and him just pressing his face into the dust and screaming. Oh Asclepius free him from this day already. 

“Thank you. I am... honoured. But my stories of Garak may be... Well, I don’t know what he would want to be told. Or even how much he told me was true, even after his letter.” Julian’s hand crept unbidden to the pocket that concealed the isolinear rod he had preserved Garak’s words on, and he smiled, teeth behind the respirator bright against his skin and the gloom. “He probably wouldn’t mind about the rod he told me was concealed in a bulkhead, and how if he didn’t return, I was to eat it.” 

Parmak was smiling now, obvious even behind his mask. “Come.” He stood, spry despite the heat, and offered Julian a hand. “We have a walk before us. Peldar is the next sector, and tomorrow after your shift- from what Garak has said of you, I imagine you’re already employed here? You do have the haunted look about you of someone already savaged by our doctors. Tomorrow, on the far side of my own district is Garak. But tonight we can talk, and you look like you need sleep.” 

Julian grasped the hand gratefully, releasing it when he was on his feet to fumble with the carabineer holding his luggage to his belt. Wouldn’t do to accidentally pull his trousers down now would it, Julian? Not when he’s actually met the man that Garak felt was worthy enough for him to write about. Bags freed and hauled back over his protesting shoulders, he checked the seal of his respirator and nodded to Parmak. “I wouldn’t mind some of your own stories. Everything I know about Cardassia is from him, and I would appreciate the assistance stay awake while we walk. If that’s not an imposition too far.” 

“Not at all.” 

The walk was not long, but the murkiness had deepened into what Julian assumed was twilight here, and the path, while cleaned of the more dangerous rubble, was still cracked and gritty enough that he had to watch where he placed his feet. His spirits were high though, because while he was tired (and damn, was he tired) Parmak was engaging and he was here, and would see Garak again tomorrow. The streets they were walking through were wider than Akleen, what was left of the buildings more colourful and with ornate curls and touches still clinging to the corners. Roughly woven mats covered windows and doors, sections where the rubble had been cleared and mixed with mortar to create small dwellings, standing protectively over small plantings that struggled through the dust. 

Parmak's home was in one of the larger buildings still looming, a rough door opening into a sprawling hall with cheerful noise from behind doors. A mural was painted on the opposite wall, tattered and dusty from a lack of attention but it still stopped Julian as if he had been struck. There, that was the Cardassia city Garak had painted one night with words honeyed by kanar, and eyes that bordered on wistful. The books had never captured in it that way, more concerned with the state and the sacrifices, but Garak had spoken of the sibilance of their tongue made solid in curves and spires, shaping gardens and markets with his hands, describing borders of cruel desert in murmurs like the winds that shifted their sands into intricate and swiftly changing patterns. Julian had fondly compared them to Garak's own words, beautiful and sinuous but never staying the same for more than two minutes and had received only a smile that had warmed him as much as those desert winds. 

Parmak pressed his upper arm with a firm hand, and Julian turned his stricken face away. That memory had felt real for a moment, Garak's voice sweet in his ears and the pressure of their knees brushing under the table mirroring their inebriated fingers on their shared glass above. 

“It looks beautiful, but underneath was putrid and decaying. Our new Cardassia may be built from rubble, but her people voted for their leaders.” He gently guided Julian away from the mural and towards one of the doors the led out to the left, opening into a single spacious room that had the look about of it as once have been something else, with a makeshift bed tucked into a corner that didn’t quite fit it, and clothing folded into shelves empty of books on the wall. Bright fabric with a stylized sun embroidered onto it covered what Julian assumed was a window where Parmak was briskly lighting a candle safely cradled in a metal cage. In place of a chair, cushions the same shade as the curtain were shaped into a comfortable nest in front of a low table. His bag hung up, mask unhooked and safely deposited on the table, Parmak turned to Julian, spread his arms and bowed slightly. “Home, sweet home.” He shot a bright look at Julian. “I believe I’ve read that in several of your books.”

The open friendliness was a salve, the affinity of the city Garak had instilled in him not stretching to most of the people he had so far met and Julian was powerless to do anything but drop his bags against the wall and fling his arms around Parmak. Oh wow, Julian, do try to be a little less desperate. Is hugging even a friendly gesture Cardassians do? The body in his arms was stock still until it rumbled, squeezing Julian’s waist briefly before reaching up and disentangling his arms. “I think you could do with a seat. Come now, you can tell me some more of your stories on our walk tomorrow.” 

“Thank you. And, uh, I am sorry. It’s been quite the day.” Julian folded his long limbs into the cushioned nest, a faint puff of dust settling onto the floor around him. He stretched out a lanky arm to his duffel bag, sliding it towards him and rifling through the main pocket. “I don’t know if Garak's told you about replimat food, but I assure you these are just as questionably delicious. The least I can do to repay you for sharing your room is to share my dinner.” He pulled two of the better flavoured packets, and held one out to Parmak. “Their nutrition value is definitely better, and an old friend of mine claimed they'll keep you full for three days.”  
Parmak accepted the packet but tucked it away on a shelf beside the door. “Thank you, but I ate at the hospital. It will be a welcome change tomorrow from boiled marloss grain, though.” He wrinkled his nose. “Bland but easy to grow. You might notice crops around the city when the dustier season ends. Perfectly serviceable if taken with supplements, but it does make one miss variety.” 

“You don’t mind if I-?” Parmak shook his head and Julian pinched the front of his respirator to break the seal, and took in a breath of the warm and slightly metallic air. The dust was much less severe inside, and he judged it safe enough to start unwrapping his meal. An apple flavoured bar and sealed hydration packet. Delicious. Food quickly disposed off (indecently so, if he were to think of Garak,) he carefully folded up the covering and tucked it away in the duffel bag – Starfleet had made sure they would be safe and even beneficial to compost, in case of their officers being stranded so evidence would not be left behind beyond natural elements. It happened uncomfortably often, apparently. Hunger taken care of, he leaned back into the cushions and closed his eyes, aware of Parmak moving around the room, but more than comfortable enough in the cooling night and with his stomach filled, Julian welcomed the opportunity to lower his guards.

“You said this was a dusty season? I wasn’t aware of noticeable changes in atmospheric weather in reports.” 

Parmak’s voice was slightly distant, and Julian’s enhanced memory brought up the layout of the room and indicated in the periphery of the bed, where there had been a shelf with tattered books. “Mm, if it is as it was the past year, there will be a rainy season. It will be needed for crops and water reserves, but increases cases of intestinal illnesses at the hospital. We are less accustomed to it than we should be.” 

“I imagine there is a great deal you have been becoming accustomed to.” The words were slowed, becoming more distant even as he spoke them, and wryly diagnosing himself, Julian discovered that a shift in a new hospital with a very private race, compounded with complications of travel from Deep Space Nine, a night packing, and high emotions after reading Garak’s letter had coalesced into the very immediate need to sleep, whether his mind resisted it or not. Sorry Parmak, he thought, as Cardassia immediately dropped away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is also not even that I like Tennyson, I merely drown in classical themed poetry. Maybe early Baxter should inspire my next work. 
> 
> If you mistakenly desire more of my content, I can be found at je-t-oublie on Tumblr where I mostly post DS9 stuff, cosplay and crafts, and the occasional selfie (mainly because my sister recently cut my hair so I can style it like Kira.)


	3. To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How dull it is to pause, to make an end,  
> To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!  
> As tho' to breathe were life! Life piled on life  
> Were all too little, and of one to me  
> Little remains: but every hour is saved  
> From that eternal silence, something more,  
> A bringer of new things;"  
> Alfred Lord Tennyson, Ulysses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It seems for every chapter of this I write, I need a palate cleanser of writing one-off to alleviate tthe stress. So expect one of those before chapter four.
> 
> A delightful person sans an account pointed out that all my stories can be so far read in an order - We Live In Shady Woods, Dulce et Decorum and then this. Whether that keeps up is debatable, but thank you to Medikua eta muskerra for pointing that out. (And for stretching my language barriers. I don't often stray from French and Spanish, or a little Greek or Latin.)

It was warm. 

In his sleep, Julian had stretched out his limbs to maximise skin that could be accessible to cooling air. The trousers and shirt likely hadn’t helped, but some unconscious reflex had thankfully toed off one shoe which was still lying near his splayed out leg. Sitting up, he took a deep breath of the still faintly strange tasting air and opened his eyes to an empty room, curtain brightly illuminated and creating pleasant shapes on the opposite wall. Parmak's mask was still on the table next to his own, his bed neatly made and voices filtering indistinctly through the closed door. Taking a private moment, Julian luxuriated in each joint quietly popping as he stood and stretched, reaching for his backpack to unwrap a fresh shirt from it’s protection duty around an osteo-regenerator and underwear from a small metal toolkit. He had a week and a half, maybe two if he stretched it, before he needed to find out how to clean his clothing but for now he turned away from the door and stripped, unperturbed of his nudity after living on a constantly malfunctioning station with coworkers who comfortably walked into his quarters without bothering to warn him. (He had made his peace with Jadzia at the time who, just for fun, had done it a few more times anyway, and Miles' outraged sputtering had been more amusing than anything.) He was already clothed and retrieving his errant shoe by the time Parmak backed into the room, pushing the door with his shoulders and hands full with two steaming bowls with cutlery already precariously stuck in. He looked surprised to see Julian, and after placing the bowls on the low table, surveyed him with concerned eyes. 

“You slept for fourteen hours. Is that normal for humans? I was worried I would have to wake you before we must leave for Akleen.” 

Julian combed a hand sheepishly through his curling and ruffled hair. “I’m sorry, I was very tired. I hope you didn’t waste too much time talking to me when I was out to it.” He nodded towards the bowls. “What is that?” 

Parmak retrieved one of the cushions from where Julian had kicked it in his sleep, placing it before one of the bowls on the table and slowly lowering himself onto it. 

“I thought you could try Cardassia's most popular current dish – the marloss grain I mentioned last night. The floor gives our rations to Marnik and she cooks the meals for us all to share, adding whatever edible weeds her children find while out. It saves us from power being used by unneeded heating elements, and the chance of fire.” 

“Thank you.” Julian knelt beside him at the table, and they ate in companionable quiet. The marloss had the consistency of porridge, but with the metallic taste seemingly characteristic to Cardassia. There was no equivalent he could think of for the occasional leaf he encountered, but they weren’t unpleasant and if this was as easy to grow as Parmak had said, it was no surprise it had become a staple food. Bowl cleaned carefully of every grain, Parmak unfolded his legs and leant to retrieve his carry bag and mask. 

“We’ll be walking past here again on our way to Garak, so you are welcome to leave what you do not need. There’s still ten minutes before we need to leave, so if you need the washroom at the end of the hall, now is the time but if you don’t mind, I would appreciate the time to reflect in privacy.” Parmak looked unembarrassed, but Julian still scrambled to his feet quickly. 

“Of course! I have imposed too much already. Just let me-“ he grabbed his respirator and pressed it quickly to his face, hoisting his backpack up over his shoulder, medkit across his chest. “Take as long as you need, I spent enough time with Bajorans to appreciate the quiet while they prayed.” He picked up their bowls, spoons clattering slightly. “I’ll thank Marnik.” He was already hooking his foot around the door to open it, and was out into the entry hall before Parmak could even try to get an word in edgewise between his rambling. 

Taking a breath of his filtered air, he looked at the rows of doors, all closed except one further up, and that was probably his best bet to find the Cardassian who had cooked for them. Peeking in the door, he saw a tall woman carefully fitting a lid over a large and dented pot, a collection of mismatched bowls on the table behind her. Clearing his throat, he put on his friendliest smile as she turned, and bowed his head slightly. “I wished to thank you on behalf of Dr Parmak and I. The marloss was delicious.” 

Marnik sniffed disapprovingly. “It was not, but you are welcome. It is the least I can do for Parmak, and it is something useful for the rest of the residents.” 

Taken aback by her gruffness, Julian looked slightly helplessly at the bowls still in his hands whilst trying to think of a response. “Well, I am certainly grateful for the hospitality and kindness shown on Cardassia, so thank you anyway. May I?” He gestured with the bowls to the table beside her, and at her nod, ventured in only enough to place them beside the other piles. “I probably won’t be staying with the doctor again, but will leave him some food to give to you since you shared yours with me.” 

She nodded, but no longer had eyes for him, focused on something behind. “Taira,” she called, and Julian turned to see a small face at the edge of the doorway. “where is your brother? You'll need to make two trips.” 

Suddenly feeling that he was intruding rather than just generally unwelcome, Julian bowed his head quickly again, and edged past the small figure who was at the doorway, an even smaller child clutching at their hand, big eyes watching him. He smiled at them, but they scurried too quickly into Marnik’s room once he had passed to see it.

-

Rubbing sterilising gel into his hands in the washroom, he examined his face in the cracked mirror above the broken steriliser light. His hair was made lighter by the dust that still felt gritty on his skull even after a night inside, and he made a face to twist the respirator. Hopefully it wouldn’t be as necessary come the rainy season Parmak had forecast, but for now it looked like it would be a permanent feature for the daytime hours, at least . Julian squared his shoulders, and decided that was his self pity allotment for the day – the mask was a necessity, so no use dwelling on its unfortunate shape. Thank you very much, vanity, that’s quite enough. He shouldered his bags and headed out to meet Parmak. 

-

The hospital was easier this time around. While he had been comfortable in the bustle, the orders and practiced movements in diagnosis through to treatment, having no familiar faces except for Ippus, who he was obliged to follow, had pressed on him after seeing the same faces every day on the station. But following Ippus today, he saw patients he had helped triage the previous day, the occasional view of friendly eyes and long plait whipping past as Parmak hurried by. Even Ippus' curt explanations and his title of “Federation” seemed friendlier after an evening with Parmak and a solid fourteen hours of sleep, and his smiles to patients were more genuine, his feet more grounded and growing fragile roots into the dry dirt of Cardassia. By the time Parmak finally caught his arm, Julian’s internal clock had long ago lost count of the hours, and it wasn’t till he stood from his kneel beside a patient in the waiting lobby, focus broken, that he felt his stomach clench into itself, empty except for the hydration packets he had carefully rationed himself. 

“Lunch?” And there was a frown that Julian hadn’t seen since their introduction yesterday. 

“Closer to the end of shift.” 

“Oh. Oh.” And he threw a look at Ippus, who had her head cocked towards them and shrugged unrepentantly even as she was manipulating the swollen hand of an aged Cardassian man. 

“Federation did not ask. You can go now. Leave the osteo-regenerator, you can have it back next shift.” 

Lips thin under his respirator, Julian looked towards Parmak who nodded. “She will take care of it. If you wanted to stop for the rest of your bags and make the far side of Paldar before the moons rise, it would be prudent for us to start now.” 

\--

Julian knew that the walk seeming shorter was only in his head. He and Parmak had been sharing stories from various hospitals they had worked at, but as his answers became more distracted the further they walked, it had lapsed to the cawing of some kind of creature in the distance and rubble crunching beneath their feet. Parmak had seemed comfortable with this, but for Julian it was a constant vibration in every muscle, invisible but like he was shaking apart, about to crumble and be carried away in the dust that constantly surrounded them. 

Ahead was the figures that had become a place of mourning and of a new future all in one. Dust made the edges of the rubble stacks blurry, illusions of movement twining through the monuments and Julian struggled, even with his enhancements, to pick out what was real or false until Parmak grasped his elbow and turned him away to the small shed that stood behind the stacks. There was the only figure that was truly moving, kneeling with his back to Parmak and Julian. Their footsteps were muffled in the dust, but the rustling of Julian’s bags were evidentially warning enough and the figure tensed, back still turned and movements suddenly clipped and precise as he reached for a gardening tool.

“Good evening, Kelas.” 

And oh Asclepius, the voice. That voice was enough to make Julian smile even though the frame was different, thinned by fewer layers of clothing and fewer meals than he had back on Deep Space Nine. He raised his hands, in spite of the still turned back and determined to do this properly even as his voice failed him, choked and halting, and damn, he wished he could blame that on the dust. 

“I am Julian Bashir.” A trowel dropped from slack fingers, and there, that was a confidence boost enough for his voice to level out. “I am of Richard and Amsha Bashir, and I am a doctor.”

In the corner of his eye he could see Parmak, hands moving up to cover his dust mask and eye ridges folding with the strength of his expression behind his mask, but his main focus was on Garak, who had turned to stare at them both, eyes closed off, but hands betraying him by creasing into the fabric of his trousers. 

“I am of Cardassia.” Julian lowered his hands, waiting for any movement in Garak's face. Was this the wrong way to greet him? Was it a request for information that he wasn’t prepared with a lie for? Maybe a note ahead would have been more polite, but there was a sly satisfaction underneath the turmoil because this was only the second time he had managed to visibly shock the Cardassian, however short-lived the feeling was, as Garak broke free of his immobility. His hands released and smoothed the creases from his trousers, wiping dust onto already patchy trousers. Meeting Julian’s eyes, he lifted his hands in a show of being unarmed in a way Julian trusted on absolutely no level. 

“I am Elim Garak, and I,” the blue eyes flicked past him quickly, checking on Parmak, checking their surroundings, and voice pitched to a level that meant to bridge only the gap between them and no further. “I am of Enabran Tain, of Tolan, and of Mila.” And while Julian’s breath left him in a rush, there was no obvious reaction from beside him. Ah, so Parmak had known. 

“I am a tailor, a gardener, and as you know, my dearest doctor, I am finally of Cardassia again.” 

His hands fell, and he stepped through carefully tended plants towards Julian. “And here I was, thinking our alliance had already been assured. You wield that betrayal as neatly as your scalpels.” There was the voice he had spent hours listening to, arguing with. No longer with the abrupt honesty of standing in the dust of what used to be his home, Garak spoke with a familiar lightness that cut the tension Julian's muscles had held from the moment he had finished reading the confession he had been sent. A comfortable facade to pull up before they were alone, and Julian turned to Parmak as their witness. 

“I’m not quite sure which dearest doctor he could mean. I've grown quite fond of you in spite of Garak's letter. And you have the benefit of not liking the dreadful book he once foisted on me. Never Ending Sacrifice my foot.”

Parmak held his hands up in surrender. “You're right, Doctor Bashir, but this is not my fight to have. You can tell me about it tomorrow. “ He nodded to Garak, and pressed Julian’s arm before stepping away from them. “You’re welcome to walk with me to the hospital tomorrow. We are lacking in good maps of Cardassia city right now.” 

“Of course. Thank you, Parmak, so much. I'll see you tomorrow.” 

Then there were two of them, standing amongst twisting monuments, delicate flowers and silence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we reach the part I wrote first - that reunion was scrawled in one of the 3B1 notebooks I keep in each purse. (Specifically from my handmade "Boldy Go" purse, because I had to replace that notebook since I commonly hand them to friends to write in when the surrounding noise is too much, and some of them are barely used to my queerness, let alone the idea of unexpectedly finding garashir peppered with Whitman quotes.)  
> I've also had to go back and fix a mistake about where Tain's house used to be. Mea culpa.


	4. Free hearts, free foreheads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "My mariners,  
> Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me—  
> That ever with a frolic welcome took  
> The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed  
> Free hearts, free foreheads—you and I are old;  
> Old age hath yet his honour and his toil;  
> Death closes all: but something ere the end,  
> Some work of noble note, may yet be done."  
> Ulysses, Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Alone but for the twisting monuments, they were quiet.

Julian knew it had only a year since they had said goodbye, but Garak had known that he had been pulling away from their friendship for longer, and seeing it in unforgiving words on his padd, even without self pity, was a blow. And it shouldn’t have been a surprise that even when he was trying to be sneaky about it, Garak had catalogued and comprehended each missed or excused invitation. He had offered his olive branch in his appearance, but it was up to Garak as to whether it was acceptable. Damn, holding his tongue had never been his forte. In an effort to distract himself from the desire to speak, Julian examined the Cardassian across from him, cataloguing each change from over the year beyond the immediacy of subcutaneous fat and heavy clothing stripped away. Closer, the dust wasn’t as much of an impediment and he could see stray light coloured hairs above each temple, fine lines and sharper cheekbones above the dust mask. And hadn’t he had already enough trouble deciphering Garak's expressions when his whole face was uncovered? Julian could feel the bright eyes on him, presumably with the same intent, and he bit his tongue, determined not to be the one who broke their stalemate. He had very few doubts that Garak knew exactly what he was up to, evidence in the lines around the blue eyes deepening before Garak spoke. 

“You do move quickly, my dear doctor. An acquaintance made with Kelas and employed already? An introduction letter from Starfleet, perhaps.”

Well, it wasn’t an immediate ‘leave my home,’ and the old title was a promising sign. He released his tongue from teeth, relieved he didn’t have to stay for hours in their mutual staring match, or bite through it in an attempt not to fill silence like he was accustomed to, chattering enough to make up for an entire space station of ghosts. 

“Actually Parmak was the one to make an acquaintance of me. He isn’t what I expected, even with your descriptions, after years of dealing diplomatically with Dukat.” 

“Ah, so you did read it. I was expectant of note back. ‘Dear Mr Garak, thank you for the letter, am running late for a holosuite reservation as Bond. Will respond when I find the time. Regards, Dr Julian Subatoi Bashir.’ “ 

Ouch. They hadn’t been the most friendly, but that was unfair, and Julian stepped forward in his own defence, medkit thumping against his hip and duffel weighing down a hand straining with a desire to point accusingly. The small puffs of dust from every movement was really not helping him look as frustrated as he damn well felt. 

“Really? Years of me having to guess, then you send me your life story and expect nothing in return? I may not be entirely human, Garak, but I'm not such a monster as you think me.” 

“Oh I didn’t doubt I would hear from you eventually, but not in person, and especially not in my own home.” Garak was leaning closer too, tone sharp before he pulled back his mantle of benign old friend, only having drifted away by time alone. Julian sharpened his eyes, wary of a new mask he hadn’t accounted for, but was mollified by Garak's wistful words. 

“It would have been better if you had seen Cardassia as it was, doctor, not the rubble it has been reduced to.” 

“It’s wounded, hardly dead.” 

“And you plan to heal it. Oh, there is that attitude I've missed. It is so rare to find someone with your naïve optimism here, it's been quite lacking from my life.”

“If you find me too trying I'm sure Parmak wouldn’t mind me staying with him while I look for somewhere else to stay.”

“After all the effort you made to come here, you think I would allow you to leave so easily? Only a year and you’ve forgotten so much already. You are welcome in my home, doctor, if you can find the space to sleep.”

“Come into my parlour, said the spider to the fly.” 

“All those years of having lunch, and never once did I imply you should’ve been on the table rather than across it. Why are you here, doctor?” The question was abrupt after the disarming return to their usual friendly debating, and Julian had to fight not to answer to the sudden authoritative tone, nearly half his life being a part of various chains of command, but he wasn’t there anymore, and he flashed a thin smile, restricted under his respirator. 

“All of those years of telling me stories. You can tell me some more, and I'll tell you if they’re true enough. “

“How delightfully devious. You have learned something from me.” Garak looked faintly intrigued. 

“I try. Now may I put my bags inside? I know both of us can’t stay in your shed forever, and I'd prefer to do what I can before the rains Parmak predicted.” He made for the door, rough wood opening to an warm and almost totally dark interior. Julian waited for his eyes to adjust, but they were not as quick as the body that moved up behind him, broader shoulders and hips blocking the indistinct outlines of the light that had struggled through the dust.

“And what exactly are you proposing to do? To emulate Aeneas and build yourself a home on new lands? I do hope there will be less weeping and rending of clothing, it was really too much.” Garak was too close, warm voice slow and faintly mocking, only as far away as Julian’s backpack forced him to be, and a dry and cracked hand had moved to twine calloused fingers loosely around his wrist. He imagined he could feel the involuntary movements made by every humanoid body channelling through the backpack and into his own chest cavity, two hearts racing together, two sets of lungs expanding and contracting with measured movements in a warm proximity implying a role neither had shared with the other before. Garak was choosing from every mask he had donned in Julian's presence and more besides, changing personas as each one provided no results, too fast for Julian to pin down and tailor his answers. Having experienced some unpleasant parts of the distant past first-hand he wasn’t one to romanticise it outside the safety settings of a holosuite but the early days of their friendship on the station were seeming positively rosy now. Refusing to turn and risk being flustered by the eyes paired with the intimacy of the well-known voice in his ear, he spoke into the darkness, his own eyes desperately focused on the edges of items that slowly pushed forward from the gloom, and tone intentionally light.

“If I do rend anything, my dear tailor, I shall commission you to mend it for me. And why not? I intend to stay, whether you desire it or not. I rather enjoy the idea of building a room from spolia. It’s not something I ever could have done on a ship, or station.” 

There were only a few steps between him and a bench jutting out from the wall, and he took them in paces as measured as their shared breaths had been, each one carefully calculated to be slow enough to not be taken as a retreat, but also to not wrench his hand too abruptly for concern of the sharp claws digging into the soft skin of his inner wrist. His radial pulse would be giving him away, he knew, but Garak only offered gentle resistance before his wrist slipped free and those few steps away were liberating even within the wooden walls. An almost perceptible weight lifted off him when Garak turned away, carefully loosening the ties of a roll of fabric above the door, blue eyes and quick fingers concentrating on looping smaller ties to hooks on either side of the doorway rather than examining him, leaving the splintered wood still open to the elements, and finally Julian was comfortable enough to look around the small shed for an out of the way place to stow his bags. 

“So, you’ve come for new experiences? Risa would have been far more accommodating.”

“I’m not that easy, Garak.” 

“I can think of many people that would question that.” 

“I don’t mean like that!” 

Flustered, the strap of his bag he had been sliding off slipped from his hand, clattering as it hit the floor and Julian caught the flicker of Garak turning sharply but he was too concerned, carefully probing the shapes in his bag for damage. By the time he was as satisfied as he could be in the gloom that they were undamaged and had looked up, Garak was leaning against the wall with a sly smile on his now uncovered face, eyes glinting and mask swinging from one of the same hooks holding down the thin fabric that covered the door.

“Really, doctor, I don’t remember you having an issue with parading your partners before. Perhaps that’s why you’re here, sheltering from a harem of armed dabo girls? I often admired their stilettos during dress fittings, they looked quite lethal.” 

“Garak.” 

“I trust you never had a foot stepped on then? No doubt your overshined Starfleet boots would’ve deflected the blow, such a pity you don’t appear to be wearing them now.” 

Julian refused to take his eyes off the edgeless shape that was Garak fading comfortably into the shadowed wall, his solid work boots heavy on his feet and already scuffed and dusty from only two days, built to be long lasting but undeniably not Starfleet issue. He’d not always put Garak's lessons into practice, but he knew to look down would be an admittance of things he wasn’t prepared to give up. Garak had always been able to read him, but after the seemingly honest letter, hundreds of words dug from under the rubble of his planet and of his home, his own perceptions of Garak were just as useless and naïve as they had been when Julian had been too nervous to string together a sentence under those unfamiliar blue eyes. 

“I'm not sheltering from any assassination attempts, though you’d be the one I went to if that was the case. After the authorities, of course.” 

“You surprise me.” Julian noted with vague annoyance the tone was in no way surprised, and that Garak hadn’t moved at all from his shadowed position. “Your tongue would have been the first thing to get you in line for an assassination here.” 

“Would have?” he stood, the missing weight from his bags and his previously ever present medkit making him feel unsteady and too buoyant in the small space, and he had to reign in the arms steadying his balance before they got to close to Garak and his sharp eyes. 

“Democracy, doctor. There is too much talking for anyone to have time to carry out an assassination, even if they had the motivation.” 

“I’ve never known you to tire of talking, Garak. Are you sure you aren’t ill?” 

The shadow pulled away from the wall, grasping Julian by the elbow and he froze, feeling uncomfortably gangly in a way he hadn’t since his first growth spurt and was a constant danger to his mother’s vases. But any items here were hidden by the gloom and idiot, of course Garak would be protective of what he still had left of Cardassia. Deftly ignoring the faux pas of his restraining hand, Garak continued as comfortably as he had since he had cut the off from the rest of the world. 

“I am quite well, doctor. But there is a distinct difference between an enjoyable debate over lunch and a constant dreary infrastructure planning. Fortunately, so few of their problems require a sartorial eye.” 

Garak was still gripping his elbow, and not waiting for a reply he carefully guided Julian back until he felt a hard line press against the small of his back.

“Sit, doctor, please. I was not finished tending to the garden, and while it was a pleasure, of course, to see you and Kelas, it is a delicate endeavour in this dust.” He released Julian’s arm, and brushed away the dust that had transferred from his hand, long claws held carefully away from the thin fabric, but Julian was already moving back towards him, pressing forward enough for Garak to take a measured step back. 

“I rather think we have things to talk about, and I don’t care if we have to do that outside.” 

“I'm afraid I haven’t had the time to read, so unless it is book you have already foisted on me on the station, you may find my opinion lacking.” 

He'd turned away, his tone dismissive and mask in hand, already unhooking the door covering from one side, enough to look before sliding out.

“Damn it, Garak.” Julian ducked out under the fabric lintel, still unaccustomed to his movements without the weight of his bags and unable to halt himself before crashing into Garak's broad back where he had paused outside the door, hands raised to adjust his mask. Julian quickly stepped back, the fabric giving against his back as Garak turned, crowding him back against the shed, eyes and voice icy. 

“I have no desire to talk right now, doctor. If you are capable, close the door and sit quietly, or go elsewhere.” 

Realising he had pushed far enough to anger Garak, Julian held his hands up and pressed his lips together, exaggerated signs to indicate his willingness to be quiet, if not totally silent. Garak's narrowed eyes flicked to his hands, his face and turned to pick his way carefully through the grey shoots that Julian had missed seeing before, too concentrated on speaking to Garak. Julian carefully closed the wooden door and moved to sit nearer to his friend, but at a sharp look that cut neatly through the dust haze, pressed himself back against the wall and slid down to a comfortable position for their mutual stony silence. Well, that had clearly gone well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spolia (or a brief foray into architecture and classical history) - when Christianity become the dominant religion in Rome, temples and public buildings started falling into disrepair (taxes not being paid? Can't fix up that infrastructure.) People began taking pieces from the buildings (spolia) to build new makeshift structures (houses, etc. (Guess what I have 95% of a degree in.))
> 
> Lo and behold, upon greatly enjoying listening to Una McCormack's Engima Tales on audible, I swore loudly enough to wake the people in the same room. Why? She had Garak quote Ulysses on the subject of one Julian Bashir.  
> (In retrospect, I'm proud that I went to the same place as a published author but even more heartbroken for the passage she chose to quote. When she quoted The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, I threw my arms up and went and bought the book. She has good taste. )


	5. One equal temper of heroic hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'  
> We are not now that strength which in old days  
> Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;  
> One equal temper of heroic hearts,  
> Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will  
> To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."  
> Ulysses, Alfred Lord Tennyson.

Julian had drifted, physically and mentally. 

Tired of watching the indistinct figure of Garak weave between patches of land, kneeling and rising in patterns known only to himself, and not wired to staying in sullen silence for long periods, Julian had entertained himself by carefully sorting through what scraps of information on Cardassian biology that had been recovered from the station files, collating them with what he had pried from Ippus, but that hadn’t been able to keep his concentration for more than a few minutes. He could feel his leg twitching, involuntary tremors throwing up smaller clouds of dust to join those already surrounding him, and really, this was quite enough. He hadn’t come to Cardassia to be sat in the corner like a misbehaving child and in no way was he was obliged to do what Garak told him. Ignoring the stooping alien, he pushed himself up from the ground and walked towards the space he had not yet explored, arms tucked carefully at his sides for fear of knocking against the carefully erected monuments, and suddenly the flattened world around him was replaced by sinuous curves and flickering shapes in the periphery of his vision that changed in the moments he turned his focus to them. 

It wasn’t difficult to conjure up Cardassian figures around him, and to understand why people had gathered here not only to mourn, but to move forward into a future that would be so drastically distant from their past, only harkening back for the ways they must change. And now, so Garak had said, Cardassian children played in the place used for a peaceful protest as they had once played between the statues of military heroes. The past would play its part here for the whole Union as much as it did for each individual, and how it played its part on Julian now.

He closed his eyes, and thought of his own past - the lost friends, faces that had blurred from time passed since he had seen them and some as clear as if they were standing beside him now. The Federation hadn’t suffered the catastrophe of Cardassia, but the doctor in Julian knew the weight of each life, had comforted friends and been comforted in turn, both in front of the impersonal screen of names of those killed in action by the Dominion and by the desperately casual touches between senior officers and friends in that last agonising year, each one affirming that they were still there, still alive. 

Julian didn’t know how long he’d been there, face tipped forward to rest oh so gently against what might have once been a part of wall when a hand ghosted past his, disturbed air currents stirring the fine hairs on his forearms. He slowly opened his eyes to the gathering darkness, loathe to possibly lose the peace of the area, but could see imprinted in the now inky shadows of the monument the teasing curve of Jadzia's smile, the sharp laugh lines in the corners of Rowan's eyes, CMO of one of the lost ships and a past classmate of his, the tousled mop of a little boy who had hated being held down and combed. Graves he could never visit. He reached for the hand that had had brushed against his lightly enough to be deniable, to be an act of carelessness, and wrapped his fingers tightly around the rough callouses, gritty dust and smooth scales in a way that could not be mistaken. It flexed briefly in his before relaxing, and the tone was carefully light.

“An expression I recognise well, doctor, but not on your features.” 

Julian dragged his eyes away from the tangle that had so resembled curled hair and looked at Garak, who had his face turned to the same monument, face inscrutable behind the dust and the mask. 

“Not so boyish a smile, hm? I am sorry, Garak, that we did not spend the time together back then.” They were words that in the past he would not have dared to say so blatantly to Garak, and he hadn't had the chance to say that to so many friends he had lost already from the war, but carefully kept that thought locked behind his lips.

“I have since learnt that time is best spent not by oneself. Fortunately there exist doctors who are unconstitutionally unable not to help when they see that.” 

Garak turned away from his study of the shadows, finally looking directly into his eyes for the first time since Parmak had left them and Julian had teasingly refused to answer why he had come to Cardassia. 

“Gardeners are much the same when it comes to a wilting plant. It must be diagnosed, and it is a battle to decide what leaves need to be plucked or whether the flower itself needs to be transplanted into new soil.” 

It hadn’t occurred to Julian that he could still be in mourning, wounds raw and gaping that he, a doctor, should have recognized and that perhaps Garak was recognising in him now from his own experience, allowing him a brief respite from any mistruths by the simple virtue of being painfully transparent in his comparisons. 

“If,” Julian spoke, and it was slow, words that wanted to stay hidden under his skin and in familiar curves he had imagined rubble reflecting, “if you did not mind teaching me, gardening would be a useful skill in this new world.”

And there was a flicker in those blue eyes, bright against the layer of dust and encroaching darkness, that Julian could not begin to translate in that moment, already laid as bare as if he had been on an operating table. Instead he just pressed the hand still in his and dragged the corner of his mouth into the smallest smile. 

It would not be easy between them, but it was not like it ever had been and this new world that Cardassia and the Federation lived in after the war would require a new way of moving forward. But if he had learned anything about how he and Garak survived, they would be better for the company of each other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus we come to the end of the longest thing I have written. Does it seem sort of abrupt? Yes - there are other things I wanted to write about Julian on Cardassia, and will likely do them as oneshots (which are a thousand times less stressful than chapters) but I wrote this chapter and then realised it was an end.  
> Thank you to Tennyson, who would weep at my use of his poem, and to a friend that taught me eight long years ago that if we were going to be sad about the passing of a friend, it would be better for us to be sad together.  
> Also an incongruous thank you to Achievement Hunter, who inspired my next story which is already sporting nine pages of notes.


End file.
